


Don't talk in front of the books

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Gen, the bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 01:43:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11243721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Dean and Sam decide it's time to dust off the odds and sods room, they're not entirely sure they'll survive what they find.





	Don't talk in front of the books

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jennytork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennytork/gifts).



> Written for spn_bigpretzel's Spring Fic Exchange 2017
> 
> Thank you so much to jj1564 for her tireless beta work, and just_ruth for her wonderful artwork! I hope you love this jennytork! <3
> 
> Posting early, with permission from dizzojay.

 

“Oh for fu - **HELP**.”

Dean scuttles backwards, slamming his shoulders into the wall, pressing himself so tightly to the hideous flock wallpaper he can feel the imprint of it running down his spine. “SERIOUSLY, SAMMY. HEEEEELLLPPPP.”

Swinging a broken chair leg wildly in front of his face whilst trying not to let the thing hovering four feet from the floor get a decent grip on it, Dean attempts to count the teeth glinting menacingly at him in the dull light of the Bunker’s _junk_ room. “What the hell are you, some kind of experiment gone hideously wrong?”

The hissing, spitting, growling _flying_ Yorkshire Terrier with a pale pink bow in it’s hair and a mouth full of teeth that a Great White Shark would be proud of zips forward, wings fluttering at an unnatural speed. “Back off Cujo-junior, don’t make me get the bug spray. SAMMY!”

The dog-fairy-hybrid thing snarls at him and Dean wonders who’s idea it was to Spring Clean the damned Bunker. Some crap should stay dusty and disused. “Let’s clean out the junk room, he said. It’ll be fun, he said. SAM WINCHESTER GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!”

Sam comes sauntering into the room wearing a smug irritating smirk and brandishing a giant bird cage. “I _told_ you not to open the boxes unless we’d figured out what was in them.”

“I didn’t expect to get attacked by a rabid ferret sized dog. Why would they even create that, I mean sure, mix up a Staffordshire Bull Terrier and a dragon, but a Yorkshire Terrier and a fairy? Idiotic.”

Sam opens the cage door and whistles, and watches Dean’s eyes go comically wide as the thing still trying to take a bite out of him turns it’s head and starts wagging it’s tail. “You’d think you would be good with dogs, I’ve seen some of your dates, remember.”

Dean takes a tentative step forward as the flying fuzzball turns in the air and starts floating towards Sam. He’s about to say something sarcastic about his brother knowing all about dog-faced women when said fuzzball spins and growls at him, making him jump back and nearly fall on his ass. “Kill it, kill it.”

Sam huffs a laugh, clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth and waits patiently for the fairy-dog to fly into the cage. Once it’s sat comfortably inside, Sam shuts the door and locks it. “No, it’s cute, and it hates you, so I think I might keep it as a pet, it clearly has excellent taste.”

Dean sneers at Sam before walking past him, giving the cage, with it’s now docile occupant, a wide berth. “I knew you wanted a puppy as a kid but that’s just wrong.”

Placing the cage in the centre of the room, waggling his fingers through the bars and chuckling as the dog licks his hand, Sam snorts and turns back to the mountain of unopened crates teetering precariously against the far wall. “I’ll hug it and love it and call it George.”

“Moron.”

Reaching out, Sam snatches a dusty tome from the floor and starts flicking pages without paying any real attention to the words within.

The spine cracks loudly as he continues to run his fingers through the fragile pages and he’s hit with a sudden rush of adrenaline.

Head spinning, eyes unfocused, Sam starts laughing like a hyena and waving his arms around, hopping up and down on the spot.

Dean turns towards his brother and for a moment thinks perhaps he’s joking, until he sees the ends of Sam’s hair begin to change shade and shape, curling into a tight mess of multi-coloured ringlets on top of his head. “Uhhh, Sammy, you feelin’ okay?”

Sam tilts his head and giggles before squeezing what appears to be a giant flower now attached to his breast pocket.

As water comes flying from the centre of the flower Sam nods his head so vigorously, Dean thinks it might fall off. “I’m fine Dean-y, Dean-o, Dean-Dean-Dean. Dean’s such a funny name, doncha think? Deeaaannn.”

“Okay, let’s have a look at what you were reading, shall we?”

Gripping his brother’s shoulders, now covered in bright red polyester, Dean forces him to sit down on the floor, which is no mean feat with the giant shoes that have appeared out of thin air and attached themselves to Sam’s socked toes. “There you go, you just sit and relax, ‘kay Sammy?”

Sam pulls a balloon from his pocket and starts blowing into it, inflating it enough that he can tie it off and start fashioning what Dean assumes is meant to be a giraffe. “‘Kay, Dean-o, no problem, I can relax, relaxing is fun, not as fun as fun, but still, fun.”

“I hope we can fix this before you get your brain back, Sammy. ‘Cause right now you’d have heart failure if you saw yourself.”

Sam ignores Dean and continues to make teeth tingling squeaking sounds with his balloon animal collection, which is growing at an unearthly rate.

Leaning down and plucking the book, still open and crackling, from the floor, Dean places a finger on the page then shuts it to try and read the title. “Oh for the love of - what were you saying about being careful? Coulrophobia - The Practical Treatment for the Fear of Clowns.”

Sam looks up at Dean like he’s the shiniest toy in the toybox and starts trying to play with the hem of his jeans. “I look fabulous, don’t I? All bright colours and sparkles. Would you like me to make you a sausage dog, Dean-o, would that make you happy?”

Trying really hard not to collapse in a fit of giggles, because giggling is unbecoming to one who decapitates things on a weekly basis, Dean shakes his head, blows out a breath and tries to remove Sam’s hands from his trousers. “No, Sammy, I don’t want a sausage dog. What is it with you and dogs? You just sit there for a minute while I try and figure out how to turn you back.”

Dean begins to flick through the book, trying to find a way to stop his brother acting like a children’s entertainer on crack. Finally finding the right incantation he recites the short piece of Latin and waits.

Sure enough, Sam stops laughing like a donkey and begins to shake his head like he’s trying to dislodge an errant thought. “De-Dean? Wh-what happened?”

There appears to be a slight flaw in the reversal spell because Sam’s mind is his own again, but he doesn’t seem to be wearing quite the right outfit or haircut, much to Dean’s amusement.

Crouching down next to his brother, Dean pats him on the leg and pulls out his phone. “Sammy, you really need to check what it is you’re manhandling in this room. I’m thinking we should just lock the door and never come in here again.”

Clicking a quick snapshot with his phone, Dean turns the screen towards Sam and waits, “What do you think, hmmmm?”

The scream that fills the room is loud enough to bring a shower of glitter from the flower still firmly attached to Sam’s shirt pocket, and Dean thinks maybe this Spring Cleaning lark isn’t such a bad idea after all.

 

Fin.


End file.
